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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167372">Baby, you and I were written in these scars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGentleArtOfMakingEnemies/pseuds/TheGentleArtOfMakingEnemies'>TheGentleArtOfMakingEnemies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Presumed Dead, Religious Conflict, Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:26:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGentleArtOfMakingEnemies/pseuds/TheGentleArtOfMakingEnemies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate au, where soulmates share injuries. </p><p>(Trigger warning. Seriously, if suicide/self-harm/blood/religious homophobia or physical child abuse are triggering for you, do not read this. This is not the fanfiction for you. Dont even read the description.) </p><p>It took Elliot a very long time for his brain to actually understand what he was staring at. At first all he could understand was the color red everywhere, his sheets, his blankets, his nightstand and lamp. Everywhere. Once his mind finally caught up he looked down and his heart stopped beating. In the middle of a sea of blood there were long deep cuts across his wrist. He could count four. He watched completely dumbfounded as another inched its way across his wrist. </p><p>God there was so much blood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Baby, you and I were written in these scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger warning. Seriously, if suicide/self-harm/blood/religious homophobia or physical child abuse are triggering for you, do not read this. This is not the fanfiction for you. All of the things listed above will be in this fanfiction in graphic detail. If you need help please call a mental health hotline.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>(Trigger warning. Seriously, if suicide/self-harm/blood/religious homophobia or physical child abuse are triggering for you, do not read this. This is not the fanfiction for you. All of the things listed above will be in this fanfiction in </b> <b> <em>graphic</em> </b> <b> detail. If you need help please call a mental health hotline.) </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>__________________________________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deep hook marks in rubber lips</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I see your eyes in the flowers</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'll pick a bunch for your room</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Green and blue to match your pictures</span>
  </em>
</p><p>__________________________________</p><p> </p><p>Elliot knew he had a soulmate for as long as he can remember, as a child the idea of a soulmate was romantic and filled him with joy. He can remember the first mark, he was really young at the time,  maybe five or six and he was playing with army men when his knee started bleeding all over the white carpet flooring of his bedroom. Of course, he immediately went running downstairs sobbing his eyes out and crawled into his mother's lap. Once she had coaxed him into calming down he finally explained how he just started bleeding for no reason and how it didn't even hurt. His mother sat him on his bathroom countertop, wiped away the blood and told him about soulmates. </p><p> </p><p>Apparently he had a soulmate somewhere, and she had just likely fallen down while playing and scraped her knee. </p><p> </p><p>He remembers how he looked at that gash and had been so amazed. Somewhere in the world someone had that exact same injury and that person would love him more than anyone else in the whole world. </p><p> </p><p>As he got older the prospect of soulmates became less romantic and more problematic. More specifically when he first realized he was only interested in men. At the time, his understanding of gay people had been based upon the information his parents had told him. And that information was heavily biased. </p><p> </p><p>He had only ever knew of heterosexual soulmates and had always been told his soulmate was a girl. His parents told him that gay men didn't have male soulmates, because soulmates were a gift from God and gay people existed because of the devil. </p><p> </p><p>So when he realized he was strictly into men, his soulmate made him feel imprisoned, angry, and ashamed. But mostly he felt sorry for her, because she was expecting someone to love her unconditionally and he was too defective to be able to do that. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes when he was terribly lonely he would lay in bed imagining a boy somewhere with perpetually scraped knees who was just as defective as Elliot. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn't until he was fourteen that he realized that gay people normally always had gay soulmates, this would be right around the time he realized how full of shit his parents beliefs were. Of course, once he was finally done grappling with his sexual orientation and how his soulmate fit in with that, new and more complicated issues took over. </p><p> </p><p>He was laying in bed trying desperately to get his brain to turn off so he could get at least a few hours of sleep before school the next morning. He remembers in crystal clarity dragging his hand down the bed only to find it damp and slightly sticky. Confused he rolled over and flicked on the lamp on his bedside table. Even now years later he can still see it like it was still happening. Light flooded the room illuminating vivid red blood coating his fingers. He flipped around and looked at where his hand had touched, a pool of blood the size of a water bottle stained his sheets. </p><p> </p><p>It took him a very long time for his brain to actually understand what he was staring at. At first all he could understand was the color red everywhere, his sheets, his blankets, his nightstand and lamp. Everywhere. Once his mind finally caught up he looked down and his heart stopped beating. In the middle of a sea of blood there were long deep cuts across his wrist. He could count four. He watched completely dumbfounded as another inched its way across his wrist. </p><p> </p><p>God there was so much blood. </p><p> </p><p>Before he even knew what he was doing he was sprinting down the hallway and banging on his parent's bedroom door. </p><p> </p><p>He could hear rustling from inside the room and after a moment Elliot's mom gazed at him through groggy eyes. Looking at her now he opens his mouth to say something but instead all he manages is to start loudly crying. Her eyes widen at the sudden change.</p><p> </p><p>"Elliot what the hell is going on? It is three in the morning" She hisses at him. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't think he even knows the words to begin so instead he just pushes the arm to her. Logically he knows as a fourteen year old boy he shouldn't be crying like this, if his father woke up he'd probably beat Elliot's ass for being a sissy. </p><p> </p><p>She gasps and walks out into the hallway softly closing the door behind her. He's relieved that the chances of his father getting involved are smaller. He loves his father but at the same time he… well it's complicated. </p><p> </p><p>His mother leads him down the hallway to the bathroom and sits him down on the edge of the sink as she occupies herself by pulling out a rag and wetting it. </p><p> </p><p>She turns and looks at him, a terrible seriousness in her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>"Did you do this?" She asks. </p><p> </p><p>His voice still won't work so he shakes his head no. She lets out a relieved sigh but her face remains serious as she sets to work wiping away the blood. </p><p> </p><p>God so much blood. His vision fixates on the overhead light as his thoughts run rampant. These cuts are… he doesn't want to believe it. He can't even bring himself to look down at his own arm. Like it somehow isn't real if he can't see it. But even with his eyes glued to the ceiling he can't stop seeing the blood everywhere. Eventually he gains his voice back and asks the question the been itching at his mind since he first saw the blood. </p><p> </p><p>"Can someone even survive after losing so much blood?" He asks, his voice shaking and heavy with tears. </p><p> </p><p>His mom sighs before answering. </p><p>"I'm not a doctor Elliot, how should I know?" She sounds annoyed but he can hear the worry in her voice. </p><p> </p><p>"Well the bleeding has slowed down so that means she's at least done something to take care of it. And by the looks of it it's definitely not enough blood to kill someone." She says as she wraps a bandage around his wrist. </p><p> </p><p>Elliot almost flinches when his mom says <em> she </em> but manages to stay completely still. His mom rinses out the rag and he does his best to not look at the red liquid that drains down the bathroom sink. After that's done she throws the rag in the dirty laundry basket and leans down to kiss him on the forehead before walking out the door and back to her bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep breath in and walks quietly back to his own bedroom. He doesn't look at the sheet as he rips it from his bed and chucks it into the hamper and puts a new one in its place. He gets into bed and vows to clean up the rest of the mess in the morning. Before he turns off the light he lifts the bandage and gazes down at the mutilated flesh of his wrist. The cuts seem smaller than they originally looked and are only bleeding slightly now. He tucks the gaze back into place and flicks the light off. </p><p> </p><p>His stomach twists into knots at the thought of what those five lines mean. What they are. They were too straight and too well spaced apart to be anything else. I mean fuck he literally watched one happen. God he just wishes he could convince himself it was something else. <em> Anything </em>else. </p><p> </p><p>His chest hurts as he imagines a boy probably about his age sitting in bed somewhere clutching a wrist that looks like this but he actually feels the pain. </p><p> </p><p>Every single part of him aches to hold his soulmate. </p><p> </p><p>__________________________________</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope you feel happy</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That's all I want</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mess in the kitchen</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was so disappointed</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess I got to my head</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I was too young to understand it</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>__________________________________</p><p> </p><p>He wishes he could say that, that was the only time that happened. But that was only the first of many and Elliot's feelings on the matter changed drastically as it continued. He isn't proud of it but eventually he began to resent his soulmate. The cuts kept coming and that horrible ache and worry grew cold and turned to frustration. It became nearly impossible to hide the cuts at school, leading to questions he didn't want to answer. And kids who couldn't even begin to understand the gravity of the situation turned into bullies, who would claim that if they were his soulmate they'd want to end it too. They'd tell him that if his soulmate cared about him he wouldn't do that to him. Eventually his soulmate stopped with the wrist and moved to his thighs, which made things easier but didn't erase the scars. And didn't erase the way these small minded hick kids looked at him. </p><p> </p><p>In a moment of absolute frustration he had even wished that his soulmate would just get on with it already, so Elliot would stop having to clean wounds and blood stains and he could just stop worrying about the pain this unnamed man who obviously didn't give shit about Elliot was feeling. </p><p> </p><p>And after a while he just stopped caring. And by that he means he buried all that bullshit under whatever alcohol he could get his hands on and whatever drugs he could buy. None of it could touch him when he wasn't sober, not the homophobic parents, not the bullies, nor the soulmate who dealt with problems by cutting them away. </p><p> </p><p>Which is probably why he was black out drunk when it happened. He woke up in a foot of snow in someone's backyard, the sleeves of his jean jacket dark brown, practically black and soaked. The snow around his arms was a red slushy mess. A numbness settled in him like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Ever since the first time he's become very well educated in what is a normal amount of blood. So he doesn't need to look under his sleeves to know what's under them. He doesn't look, he feels absolutely nothing as he peels himself from the snow and the blood he knows from experience is <em> way too much </em>. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't look while he stumbles home half drunk and half in what was probably shock. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't look until he's already taken a couple hits of his one hitter he left on the windowsill of his room. Then he lets the ruined jacket slip from his shoulders and land on the floor and he lets his gaze settles on the two gashes that stretch from the top of his wrists down to about mid to lower forearm. Deep and hideous there implication lays heavily on his skin. He feels like he should feel something. Some kind of anguish, some form of despair. Instead he feels numb. He knows what a suicide attempt looks like. He knows that he doesn't know if this one was successful but he knows how much blood there was. </p><p> </p><p>His gaze catches on a small amount of blood that had soaked through his jeans. He takes off his pants. </p><p> </p><p>A short, crudely written sentence has been carved into the skin of his thigh. The cuts are shallow and will likely not even leave a mark. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, you deserve better.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Somehow that is what breaks through the numbness and shatters him to pieces. It's not the horrible ugly deep cuts or the obvious signs of severe blood loss. </p><p>It's the apology. </p><p> </p><p>The first and likely last thing he will ever hear from his soulmate. </p><p> </p><p>And suddenly he is shaking apart at the seams, sobs ripping through him like shrapnel. He can't mourn someone he never got the chance to meet but instead he mourns for himself, and for the loss of possibility. He wonders what he's done to deserve watching his soulmate lose a slow and agonizing battle. What did he do to deserve losing the other half of him without ever even meeting him? </p><p> </p><p>That ache from long ago returns in full force, choking him. God if he could just hold him. His fingers brush over the words on his thigh. If he closes his eyes he can almost feel the boy on the other side. </p><p> </p><p>And suddenly he's filled with a white hot anger. If his soulmate gave a single shot about him he wouldn't have done this.  God did he even care about all the nights Elliots sat up worrying himself sick as more lines draw themselves across his thighs. Does he even care that Elliot will have to go the rest of his life alone? That all Elliot will ever have of his soulmate's is all these goddamn scars. And he hates him. Hates his likely dead soulmate for his lack of empathy to the person he's attached too. </p><p> </p><p>He picks himself off the floor and wipes the tears from his face. And then he gets very very drunk. </p><p> </p><p>Days pass like this. Every time his gaze lingers a little too long on his wrists or his mind wonders if his soulmate is even alive he buries it under whatever substance he can get his hands on until he can't even remember what he was trying to forget in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't spend an entire day sober until long after the cuts have turned into big ugly scars. And the passage of time holds him hostage as days turn into months that turn into years without a single new cut. It's a very long time before he can completely ignore the concept of soulmates without the help of drugs and alcohol. </p><p> </p><p>Once his mom figures out what happened she forces him into a shitty little grief group, where he is the youngest of ten people. All of them probably older than thirty, and him being only seventeen. He spends most of the time there in the bathroom drinking out of a water bottle filled with vodka. Everyone looks at him with a kind of pity he doesn't think he deserves. And those who don't look at him with pity have this all knowing gaze that he thinks is somehow worse. Like despite all the running he has done they can see right through his shirt and see past the scars and look right into his soul. What he does learn from the group is that it will continue to hurt until he's old enough to have grey hair. And most of the people in that group have stopped living their lives from the weight of the loss. And that they still get mystery bruises sometimes and feel their heart rise and fall with disappointment. </p><p> </p><p>His favorite of the group is a elderly woman named Beth who will roll her eyes at something particularly sappy and continue crocheting her blanket. Sometimes she'll take a swig of his <em> water bottle </em> and wink at him. From what he knows of her, her husband died a couple years back from cancer and the only reason she's here is because her daughter was worried and said it was ethier grief group or a nursing home. And she was <em> fine. </em> Except she wasn't, and everyone knew that, the same way everyone knew what was in Elliot's water bottle. But no one was going to step in and try to get her to open up about her husband. Because everyone knew that sometimes it was easier to ignore it than it was to accept it. Sometimes Elliot thinks that if he thought about <em> him </em> too long he'd be swallowed up by the devastation and the fury. So he buries his feelings, the same way they buried his soulmate. </p><p> </p><p>And he's happy with that. He creates his own happiness despite the gravity of the secondhand scars that litter his body like a pitiful memorial to a man who doesn't exist anymore. </p><p> </p><p>He never tells anyone about them. He gets through high school and graduation and then college without ever saying a word about it. </p><p> </p><p>That is until brakebills. Where Margo sweeps into his life like a hurricane and changes everything he ever knew about anything ever. </p><p> </p><p>And it's his first year, the night of <em> the trials </em>that it finally comes out. He's butt naked in front of her for the first time, with rope tying them together. And her eyes had landed on the scars the second his shirt had left his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>The words had passed his lips before he even knew what he was saying. Because for the first time since he was seventeen he wanted someone to <em> know. </em> Because he wanted her to <em> know.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Even having only known her for a few months, he could tell that she was the closest thing he would ever know to a soulmate. </p><p> </p><p>"My soulmate killed himself when I was seventeen." He told her and he choked on the words as they left. Only realizing then that it was the first time he had ever said it out loud. </p><p> </p><p>She didn't look at him with pity or condescension she simply took his hand and squeezed. He felt like this was the time for crying but he couldn't muster up the tears. It was an old wound that barely even hurt anymore. It felt like basic information. Some part of him felt like it was nothing. Like Hi, my name is Elliot Waugh, I'm 24 years old, my eyes are brown, my soulmate is dead, my hair is a dark brown, I'm a physical magic kid, and i'm gay. </p><p> </p><p>The ropes fell from around his wrists and something about it was freeing. Like the noose of grief loosened for the first time. It was still there but it wasn't nearly as suffocating. </p><p> </p><p>Margo told him the quite embarrassing truth about how she lost her virginity, and her ropes loosened. </p><p> </p><p>And it was okay. She didn't treat him any differently. Hell she didn't bring it up unless he wanted to talk about it. And he found that he was okay talking about it sometimes. </p><p> </p><p>And he was okay, and for the first time in a long time he meant it. He wasn't spectacular or amazing, he was just fine. It still hurt sometimes but not like he was going to be carried away by it. </p><p> </p><p>And when he used magic he could feel the pain he still carried for his soulmate surge through him. Sometimes he wishes he could tell his soulmate about all the beautiful magical things Elliot had only been able to do because of the pain his soulmate had given him. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Everything changes while he's laying on top of railing in front of the academy. The sun dusts across him elegantly as he waits to collect a new first year and direct him to the examination room. Elliot had just began to consider a nap, as he was tired of waiting for someone so late, when he watches with amusement as a man in a suit comes stumbling out of the trees. </p><p> </p><p>Of course that amusement changes into something else when the man is finally standing in front of him. He takes a long drag from his cigarette as he looks at him. He has long hair and puppy dog eyes. He's soft looking in a way that makes Elliot feel posessive. He sits up and resists the urge to tuck a strange of hair behind the man's ear by reaching for the note card in his pocket. </p><p> </p><p>In fancy lettering the card reads out Quentin Coldwater. That is probably the worst name he's ever read. </p><p> </p><p>"<em> Quentin Coldwater?"  </em></p><p> </p><p>The name gets a confused and baffled look on his face as he nods dumbly. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh-huh." He supplies when he gains his voice back. </p><p> </p><p>Quentin looks absolutely intimidated by Elliots presence. This stirs up a few different emotions in Elliot. On one hand he likes the look on his face but on the other hand he kinda just wants to wrap Quentin in his arms and reassure him that he's safe here. </p><p> </p><p>Elliot jumps down and can't help himself from drifting into the smaller man's space. The small gulp Quentin makes doesn't go unnoticed by him. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm Elliot, you're late." He says while looks him up and down. </p><p> </p><p>God he's so fucking cute. </p><p> </p><p>"Follow me." He says as he stalks away. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh, okay, um, hey… di- where am I?" </p><p>Quentin stumbles over each word. Elliots hearr melts. </p><p> </p><p>"Upstare New york." </p><p> </p><p>"Upstate? But I was just- Hey. Okay, what is this place?" </p><p> </p><p>"Brakebills University. You've been offered a preliminary exam for entry into the graduate program." Elliot takes a hit from his cigarette. He hears Quentin stop walking. </p><p> </p><p>"Am I hallucinating?" He damands. </p><p> </p><p>God Elliot has such a soft spot for men like him, its driving him a bit mad. </p><p> </p><p>"If you were, how would asking me help?" He asks, his frustration at the <em> many </em> stupid questions apparent in his voice. Even still he can't help the very small smile from showing on his face. </p><p> </p><p>"Come on, or you'll miss it." Elliot tells him, spurring him to keep moving. </p><p> </p><p>He dropped Quentin off in the examination room and took off towards the cottage ready to tell Margo all about the absolutely cutest guy he had just found. </p><p> </p><p>Something about Quentin made him feel like things were changing, he just didn't know how yet. </p><p> </p><p>__________________________________</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I get it now that it's too late</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I never stopped feeling guilty</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm over it, I promise that</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just gotta sing it out of me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>__________________________________</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song used in this chapter is Green by cavetown. And yes Quentin and Elliot are soulmates.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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